Missing Piece of a Fantasy
by amberdowny
Summary: I’m not quite sure how it started. Maybe one day I just looked at him as he drank the horrible yet wonderful gin in the Swamp and realized he was beautiful. A night in the Swamp, and what Hawkeye thinks. Contains slash.


Disclaimer: I don't own MASH, unfortunately. If I did, it would be even slashier than it already was. If that's humanly possible.

Warnings, yes: Slash, of the Hawkeye/Trapper variety; drunken-ness, as if that needs saying; perhaps slightly OOC characters, because I'm just not good with witticism.

Words: 2072

I'm not quite sure how it started. Maybe one day I just looked at him as he drank the horrible yet wonderful gin in the Swamp and realized he was beautiful. Maybe it was because we were both here and not there, and could relate to one another. Maybe it was just that all of my womanizing ways hadn't brought me any closer to forgetting Carlye and I was ready to try something new. Maybe it was just a result of the horrible yet wonderful gin.

Whatever the reason, I had found myself having fantasies about and feelings for my bunkie Trapper John, often at wildly inappropriate moments, like during surgery. All right, I exaggerate; I never had a fantasy during surgery, mostly because surgery is too damn important to not give my full attention. (My feelings for him though, they never go away.)

But now, when I'm practically waxing poetic as I sip from a martini glass, sitting on my bunk and staring across the tent at Trapper's empty bunk (he's in post-op), with Frank in Hot Lips' tent (he should be going to post-op soon to relieve Trap), now is a grand time for a fantasy. And a fantasy comes.

_Trapper comes in from post-op and sees me sitting on my bunk. He sits beside me (hopefully it won't break) and touches my thigh. I look at him, and he grins at me, then leans in and we're kissing. _(I can never picture this part clearly enough)_. Kissing turns into more, and I push him back on the bed, tugging at his clothes. He pulls me down hungrily for another kiss and moans in my ear, "My--_

"God, I could use a drink!"

I'm jerked from my reverie as Trapper actually does come in from post-op. He stalks over to the still, fills up a glass from the pitcher, and then sits down on his bunk. He pulls his boots off moodily, and then stands again to get his drink.

"Problems in post-op?" I ask, as Trapper fills up another glass.

He sighs. "No, everything is under control. I'm just so sick of it. All of it. Operating on kids, this place, this war. Hell, even this gin!" He swallows the alcohol in his glass, and then slams it down next to the still.

"Hey, easy on the glass," I joke.

Trapper harrumphs and flops onto his bed again. "What are you doing awake?" he mutters into his pillow. "I figured you'd be sleeping while you had the chance."

"I was waiting for you," I answer truthfully. Then I grin. "I wanted to make sure you showed up, and Frank didn't spend the whole night with Hot Lips."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Trapper grumbles. "I'd march right over there and--"

"Stop and watch for a few minutes," I tease.

"Maybe," Trapper admits. "But _then_ I'd make Frank come to post-op." He rolls over and sits up. "You know what I want?" he asks suddenly, looking not at me but at the still.

I shake my head. "No, what?"

"I want to get so smashed, I pass out," Trapper says with finality. He sighs. "Maybe forget the war for a night."

I consider. "There are only three patients in post-op, and we're not expecting more. Want to go to Rosie's?"

Trapper shakes his head. "No, I don't want to exert the effort." He looks at the still again. "Can you get drunk off that stuff?"

"We have," I remind him.

"No, I mean really drunk, passing out drunk."

"Probably."

Trapper shakes his head again. "I don't want to bother to find out. I'm sick of that gin." He lies down again, on his back this time. "I'm sick of the war."

"Jeez, do I act like that when I'm depressed?" I ask, mostly kidding.

"No, you're worse," Trapper replies. "You talk extensively about your hatred of guns."

"What's wrong with hating guns?" I retort.

"Nothing, Hawk," Trapper says quietly, then closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

I don't say anything either. It's rare that Trapper gets this depressed without me…I wonder if something happened? "Trap?" I question.

"Yeah?"

I consider for a moment, and then ask, "Are you okay?"

Trapper opens his eyes and looks over at me. "Yeah, I'm fine, just not in the best mood."

"All right. You know, I--_hey_!"

"Hey what?" Trapper replies.

I grin and rummage in my footlocker. "I just remembered, I think I have something that'll cheer you up."

"Unless it's real alcohol, don't bother," Trapper mutters.

My grin widens as I pull a bottle from the footlocker. "It is."

Trapper gets up and comes over to me, grabbing the bottle from my hand. "Scotch? Twelve-year-old scotch? Hawkeye, how long have you had this?" he demands.

"A couple weeks," I say. "I was hoping to bribe Henry into signing me a pass to Tokyo. But I think your need is greater than mine."

"And you forgot about it," Trapper adds.

I shrug. "That too."

"Don't you ever get in there?"

"Oh no, I don't fit," I reply. Trapper rolls his eyes. "Okay, okay. No, everything I need is on the floor somewhere."

"Oh, that's sanitary," Trapper says sarcastically.

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh, and all of your things aren't all over the floor?"

"All right, I'm guilty," Trapper says. "Now will you please open that bottle?"

I grin. "I suppose so." I do, and Trapper wipes out first his glass, then mine, with a towel. After being presented with the glasses, I pour the scotch into them.

Trapper takes his glass reverently. "Scotch…"

"You could get scotch in the Officer's Club," I remark, amused.

"Yeah, but this is the Swamp. There is scotch in the Swamp." Trapper raises his glass, and I tap it with mine and we both drink.

A bottle of scotch and four--five?--glasses of gin later, neither of us has passed out, but we're definitely drunk. We've both moved to Trapper's bunk by now. Surprisingly, it hasn't broken.

"Jesus, I hate this place," Trapper says, slurring a little.

"Me too," I reply.

"Yeah, but…I really hate it," Trapper says. "I didn't become a doctor to do meatball surgery on eighteen-year-old kinds."

I take another sip of my drink. "Why did you become a doctor?"

He considers for a minute. "I don't know. I always liked biology, and I figured, why not? And it does pay pretty good, if you're not in a war. And helping people, that's part too. Why'd you?"

"My dad's a doctor," I reply. "It was all I ever wanted to do too."

"Oh yeah? I can't see my girls getting involved with medicine." He raises slightly bloodshot eyes to meet mine. "You think you'll ever get married and have kids?"

I laugh. "No. I'll have to get pregnant first." Trapper laughs too, and I start up again, and we just laugh for a few minutes.

"No, ser'ously, why aren't you gonna get married?"

"It's never been serious, with a girl I mean. Well, there was one girl, but…she left me. There was this one person too, when I was in my teens…changed my life." I'm talking about Tommy Gillis, we'd fooled around a bit when we were kids, but then we could get girls, so we just sort of…stopped. I don't tell this to Trap though.

Trapper pours another glass of gin for himself and tops off my glass. "You're a good person, Hawkeye."

"Glad to hear it. Frank disagrees with you though," I reply, grinning at Trapper.

"He's sometimes right, but like…tonight, waiting up for me, and then the scotch…I know how improtant a pass to Tokyo is. You can get away for a few days."

"We're away tonight," I reply. "Doesn't the war seem farther away?"

Trapper cocks his head. "Yeah, kinda. 'S like it's in the background, and here's just us. …Hey Hawk, you ever kiss a guy?"

I choke on my gin. "What?" I gasp.

Trapper blushes. "Sorry, I--"

"Why do you want to know?"

"'M just curious," Trapper mumbles.

I consider telling Trapper about Tommy. Why not? "Remember Tommy Gillis?"

"Yeah," Trapper replies.

"Well, we…fooled around, when we were kids. Have you?" I ask, suddenly curious.

"Not yet," Trapper replies. "But I want to."

I freeze, my glass halfway toward my mouth. "Who?" I ask finally.

Trapper blushes again. It's not common for him, but he looks…cute. "Um, that's not really improtant--im_por_tant."

"Not Frank?" I ask in horror.

"No! God, Hawkeye, give me some credit. I have taste, after all." Trapper looks offended.

"Sorry."

"Mmm…'s okay."

I bring the glass to my mouth and sip. "Who?" I ask again.

Trapper sighs. "Is it that improtant that you know?"

"I know everything else about you."

"Not quite."

"Close enough."

Trapper finishes his drink, then sighs and lays back. "I think I'm going to sleep."

"Not gonna wait to pass out?" I ask with a grin, tossing back my drink.

Trapper shakes his head. "Ooh…no, I don't think so."

I stand up to go to my own bunk, but suddenly the world is spinning and I sit again. "I think I'm staying here tonight," I say shakily. "The tent is spinning too fast for me to go to my own bed."

Trapper yawns. "Okay."

"Hey Trap?"

"Yeah?"

"You think you'll remember anything in the morning?"

Trapper yawns again. "Nope."

"Good." Then, screwing up my courage, I lean down and press my lips to his. Trapper kisses back for a second, before he grabs my arms. Oh, damn.

"What are you doing?" Trapper asks, sounding slightly panicked.

"I _was _kissing you," I reply.

Trapper sucks in a breath. "Why?"

"Because…I've wanted to for awhile now. I…think I'm in love with you, to be honest."

Trapper stares at me from two feet away. Slowly, he pulls me back down on top of him. "Me too," he murmurs against my lips, and then kisses me again.

Suddenly, I know the missing piece of my fantasy. His lips are soft and warm, and opening a little under my own. He's sucking on my bottom lip, and I'm sucking his top. Now his tongue is moving into my mouth, and I'm opening my mouth wider to let him in. Our tongues touch, briefly, before he moves his away from mine and explores my mouth. He pulls his tongue back, and I push mine forward into his mouth, exploring also. While our mouths are joined, I'm running my hands through his hair, over his back and arms and sides, and so is he. He slides a warm hand under my T-shirt, raising goosebumps. I moan involuntarily at the sensation, and slip my own hand beneath his shirt, marveling at the feel of muscle under my hand where it's usually softness. He pulls back from the kiss slightly, and sucks on my lip again. Finally, I need to breathe, and I break the kiss, panting for air.

"Will you remember this in the morning?" I ask, caressing the side of his face.

"If not, you can remind me," he replies. I smile and move off of him, then lie back, my legs off the bed. He turns to face me, and I face him and wrap an arm around him. He drapes an arm over me as well, and then whispers, "Should we really stay like this? What will Frank say?"

"Who cares about Frank?" I reply. "Besides, we're drunk. We have an excuse."

He tenses and looks at me, alarmed. "But that's not the only real reason, right?"

I smile softly. "Of course not."

He relaxes against me and buries his face in my neck. "Good. Hawk…I really do love you."

"I love you too. But…I know this isn't the best time for this…what about your wife? I try to stay away from married women and now--"

Trapper shuts me up with a kiss. "She's home. I love her. I'm here. You're here. I love you."

"That doesn't answer--"

"Here, you're mine," he whispers.

"No, you're mine," I reply.

He smiles and kisses me again. "Okay, I'm yours."

I kiss him, then pull him closer and drift off to sleep.

La fin

Begun: January 11, 4:28 pm

Finished: January 11, 9:14 pm


End file.
